


Harry Potter and the Strife of Reality

by Younger_than_yesterday07



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Injury, Car Chases, Coffee Shops, Draco Malfoy in the Muggle World, Drarry, Fluff and Angst, Good Slytherins, Gryffindor/Slytherin Inter-House Relationships, Harry Potter - Freeform, Hospitals, London, M/M, Major Character Injury, Modern Day, Muggle London, Muggles, My First AO3 Post, My First Fanfic, Please Don't Hate Me, Slow Build Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Slow Burn, Third Person POV, draco drives an audi, draco goes to trader joes, harry pretends to go to oxford, hermione is mentioned, muggle america
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-04
Updated: 2018-04-04
Packaged: 2019-04-18 07:14:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14207937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Younger_than_yesterday07/pseuds/Younger_than_yesterday07
Summary: (Updated weekly!)The boys are exes when Draco gets into a life threatening car crash. Told between modern day (in which Harry deals with being the chosen one--in America) and chronological memories of their relationship post Hogwarts (in which Draco deals with post war guilt and a slytherin identity crisis).





	Harry Potter and the Strife of Reality

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is a modern era AU of the potter universe centering around Draco Malfoy/Harry. New chapters will be posted weekly.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco's on a gurney in a hospital, then he's in London being mad and angsty, then he's in California being a housewife™. Except definitely not in that particular order. Harry's in love, then freaking out, then Harry's mad, then Harry's being Brave™. Again, in no particular order

**March 21st 2018 11:48 am. Santa Cruz City Hospital.**

Harry was fumbling again. Absent tapping of his shoe against the linoleum floor, excessively pushing up of the crooked glasses permanently fixed at the bridge of his nose, twiddling of his scarred thumbs. He hated hospitals. Fluorescent lights buzzed above him condescendingly and he tried his best to ignore them.  He was here for one purpose, to collect his routine blood test results. No use dabbling about, if the poor receptionist would just hurry up.

 

Seconds felt like hours as a nondescript black and white clock chirped monotonously. Harry caught his reflection in a gently framed, unenthusiastic painting. Since when did he become so old looking? His face was thin, his eyes watery and dull, his skin pale as a sheet. He was restless.

 

**January 7th 2017 6:35 pm. Santa Cruz, California.**

“Hey babe!” Harry shouted into the apartment as he pushed himself through the door, clutching a bag of groceries to his chest. Light filtered into the small, but lovable home. Long after the war, Draco hadn’t wanted to be anywhere close to London or anyone that would recognize him. Harry was hesitant, but eventually obliged when his usually stoic love became giddy at the prospect of moving to Southern California.

“It’s liveable”, Draco had insisted anxiously, “The sun there actually shines, it doesn’t just  hide away and smoke cigarettes”. That— and a stable 2 year lease—- had sold Harry.

 

“Over here!”. The blond’s voice filtered through from the kitchen and Harry followed it, smiling like an obsessed teenager . He dropped his keys on the coffee table, appreciating for a moment the miscellaneous holiday decorations that marked their first Christmas together. “What’s all this then?” The brunette asked teasingly as he hugged Draco briefly from behind.

“Chicken curry with jasmine rice” the novice chef replied haughtily, offering Harry a sauce covered spoon.

“Where’d you learn to do that?” He laughed

Draco just smirked back at him.

“Go set the table love, I’ll be done soon”

 

The setting sun drenched their flea market oak table in hues of orange and red, dancing across the plains of Draco’s face. Jazz music played from a speaker in the kitchen. Since childhood the boys had both yearned for stability, though neither would care to admit. _Home_ had become redefined not as a place, whether it be the cricketty stair cases of Hogwarts or the overpopulated Weasley home. Home was one another. This, right here, right now, was what Harry loved.

“Domesticity?” Draco inquired sarcastically, budging into the pensive brunnette.

Not missing a beat (non-magical mind reading had become a trait of their relationship), Harry retorted “No, you. I love you and I love—y'know.. togetherness”.

‘Togetherness. Togetherness. Together. Two. Us.’ Harry repeated to himself inwardly in a mental rhythm.

He lifted his face up from contemplating his plate of mediocre chicken curry and gazed with intention at Draco; who was entranced in the cutting, pushing, and chewing of his food. His heart overflowed with love for the statuesque silver haired Slytherin boy in front of him. Absentmindedly, Harry reached out his hand to grab Draco’s which was resting atop their table. Draco glanced up quickly and grabbed Harry’s cold hand back, giving his fingers a tight squeeze then running lazy circles in his palm that sent electric shocks up Harry’s body.

“Draco”

“Yes?” The blond quipped

“Do you think we’ll be alright? For a while? Do think we’ll..” Harry was fumbling. He always fumbled when it came to their relationship. He could feel his foot itching to start tapping under the table

“Do I think we’ll stay together?” Draco repeated slowly, pulling back his hand from Harry’s and wiping his mouth with a napkin. He paused for what seemed like an eternity, looking past Harry to the barren apartment wall. Just when the coltish boy felt as though he would explode from nervous tension Draco nudged his foot under the table and turned directly to Harry’s expectant green eyes.

“I don’t think that’s a question”, he began, emphasizing every word as if he had practiced it several times in his head. “I’m not going to say that I see us sitting side by side in ratty old armchairs when we’re gray and old”, he continued. Noticing Harry’s dubious expression he amended quickly, “We’ve been through.. so much. I— I can’t promise you forever Harry because we’ve both seen that forever doesn’t exist. I can’t promise you security because we don’t get security in our lives, especially together.” Draco faltered on the last words. Their reality wasn’t perfect, but in his eyes is must be talked out. They must become comfortable with it. Carefully, he continued “But what I can promise you— what I will promise you is that I love you. I love you today and I love you tomorrow. I cannot see myself ever stopping the love I have for you Harry.”

Draco shuddered. He had chosen his words cautiously, aware of the impact they would have on Harry. The brunette had a constant facade of ‘okay-ness’ that hid a badly broken soul underneath. Harry stared bluntly at Draco. He hurriedly grabbed at both of the silver haired boy’s hands, which steadily grabbed back. Harry offered a half smile and shaking chin to Draco, who reflexively drew both of their hands to his lips and pressed soft kisses to them, keeping his eyes ever trained on the emerald ones in front of him.

 

**March 21st 2018 11:31 am**

Draco was stronger than this. He was stronger than almost-crying-but-not-quite-crying in his Audi. So he didn’t cry. He pushed his fingers against the volume dial and felt the consistent, tantalizing force of classical music wash over his body and break down the walls of his mind. He struggled to keep his thoughts focused on easy things, like work projects and the lovely note a woman in the office had left him (whom he hadn’t the heart to tell he played for the other team), his impending promotion, the letters he still received from his mother back home. It wasn’t easy. He wanted to bang his head against the steering wheel and curse driving to eternal damnation. Fucking driving . He had picked it up quickly when they— (was it alright to still say they?) first moved to  California— back when he was so traumatized by the war that he swore off all unnecessary magic and decided to assimilate. Save for a few encounters with other wizards that had separated from the magical community, his identity crisis had been successful. The ex Slytherin had adopted things like driving, a desk job, and occasionally- Trader Joe’s.

 

Everything reminded him of Harry, from the empty passenger seat to his right to any LensCrafters advert. He missed him, and oh Merlin did he hate it.

 

It was raining, because of course it was. Like some sad movie scene, Draco thought sarcastically, half expecting “Chasing Cars” to come on the radio and complete his living film. Everything was steadily becoming blurrier, and as a subconscious after thought he remembered the liquor he had downed this morning. It was healing. It was numbing. It was obvious to his muggle coworkers when he walked in to work this morning. Then again everyone here was a muggle, so was there any need to specify? A 15 year old die hard pureblood version of himself sneered back. He hated everything. When he got home his apartment would be empty, no warm heater because Harry always had cold feet and it needed to stay on, no inviting furniture because that was all Harry’s in technicality, no food because cooking reminded him of Harry. He hated himself because he was the one who did this, wasn’t he? He broke his life. He did this. He was going to cry. He was going to be sick and then he’d have to pay an astronomical amount to get it out of the posh seats. He couldn’t cry. He couldn’t cry. He couldn’t cry. It was raining so hard. Strong headlights flooded his field of vision and he vaguely felt panic, hidden under a thick layer of alcohol. The last thing he remembered feeling was pain.

 

**MArch 21st 2018, 12:02 pm. Santa Cruz City Hospital**

He was busy counting the number of ticks in one full rotation of the little red clock hand (fully knowing it would be 60 but drawn in by boredom), when he first heard it. The sound of an ambulance always made him feel sick to his stomach. He was such an empathetic person, that’s why, he assured himself, remembering those words as they were first said by Hermione months ago. It was so loud. Ambulance sirens sound different when they’re not in a hospital. When they’re not in a hospital it’s not your problem, and you can feel bad for a second— or feel as though you’re going to throw up in Harry’s case- but it passes. Not here. Here, the problem must be dealt with. He absentmindedly contrasted it to the welcoming chime he had heard moments earlier, signaling another successful birth from the maternal ward. He leaned his head against the wall and decided to let it pass. They wouldn’t come through here anyways, this was just a general waiting room. He had a full 12 seconds of peaceful abandon and selective listening that tuned out the sirens when the waiting room exploded with noise. “We need some help here! We need some help here right now please!” A thin, ginger paramedic yelled as she gripped an IV bag over a gurney that was being rushed into the room. Nurses from the front station jumped up and a quick exchange was made.

“The pit is loaded, — no I don’t know who did it. He’s stable, car crash, blunt head injury, we need ICU and surgery”

The gurney was steadily making its way down the linoleum lines hallway as more and more nurses flocked around it. That’s when Harry realized, it was going to roll right past him. He was going to see a car crash victim. After a hard swallow he bucked up and curiosity got the best of him, eagerly craning his neck to catch an early glimpse of the ambling gurney. A woman in a authoritative white coat and green scrubs ran past and took hold of the situation. “What do we got?”

“20 year old male ma’am. Car crash, severe head injury..”

“Alright I’ll take it from here, get out of here if you don’t need to be here”

Harry tucked in his legs as the gurney passed him. Poor bloke, he thought. It looks nasty. Crusted blood lined the crevices of the man’s clean shaven face. Bruises dotted his neck and chin, swollen lips and black eyes obscured his face. Whoever it was, they would have a hard time identifying him without an ID. If Harry had blinked, or looked a split second later he would have missed it. It was tiny really, insignificant. A minuscule scar almost hidden by a wisp of blond hair. To anyone else, it wouldn’t have mattered, but to Harry it told a harrowing story. Instantly he knew. His heart was hitched in his throat. The floor felt like it was falling out from under him. A book would say that he felt as though he were in a dream, but Harry Potter knew better. He had seen his friends die in front of him and he wasn’t about to let the man he once loved to the ends of the Earth do the same. Abandoning any hint of insecurity or boredom, Harry shot up, pulled his wand from his back pocket, slid it under his sleeve, and ran after the gurney.

 

**October 16th 2016 3pm. Hyde Park**

“It’s not easy, you know”

The words were mumbled, like so many of the things Draco said lately. As if he didn’t want to be heard, like the truth might run out and escape if he wasn’t careful and didn't keep his lips pressed together enough.

 

The two boys were sitting together on a near frozen bench in Hyde Park in London. They both had their hands wrapped around cheap and tasteless coffees, sucking up their warmth in the increasingly cold weather. Harry kept his eyes fixed on a pram a few meters away, trying to avoid Draco’s accidental eye contact. He took a swig of coffee before responding. “Nothing is ever easy” he began roughly, “We don’t get the easy way out Malfoy”.

 

“Don’t call me that”, the silver haired boy sneered. “That’s not my name. I am not--” he faltered for a moment, “I am not my father”. Harry nodded solemnly, having heard those words countless times. He murmured an apology, the last words said between them for the next 20 minutes as they both sat silently in the cold, locked in two different world with hands yearning to touch.

 

 **March 21st 2018 12:08pm.** **Santa Cruz** **City Hospital**

Harry ran behind the gurney for as long as he could, hidden in the confusion of nurses, paramedics, and attending physicians until he hit a wall. “Are you family?” demanded a short and stocky no-nonsense middle aged nurse.

“Sorry what?” Harry asked impatiently, bouncing on the balls of his feet trying to catch glimpses of the gurney as it was ushered around a corner. The nurse flinched briefly, as do many americans had when they first heard his accent. However, unlike the others she didn't poke about questions of the ‘island across the pond’. Nurse no-nonsense--or Nurse Miller as her name tag indicated-- had a job to do.

“I said”, she repeated with patience rapidly decreasing, “Are you immediate family? You can’t be with the patient unless you are immediate family”. She gave him a once over, dirty black hair, olive skin, disheveled clothes and all before continuing, “And I know for a fact that you ain’t his brother”. Harry glanced about the intersection of identical hallways they were in. No one was about, and the nurse station was at least 6 rooms down. Thinking quickly he slid a seldom used wand out of his sleeve and cast _Imperio_ . The nurse moved aside and bustled down the hall about her business. Satisfied, Harry tucked his wand into his back pocket and pushed through a set of double doors. Under his breath he whispered--mostly for his own conscious-- ‘ _That was necessary magic, Draco. I promise’._

 

**October 23rd 2016 6pm. Trafalgar Square, London**

Draco and Harry were walking down slick sidewalks in the heart of London. It was pouring, loud, and thick with tourists. The boys bumped shoulders and hips not by intent but by the never ending push and pull of pedestrian traffic. Crowded pubs dotted the streets in friendly glows of dark green and gold, trapping tourists with claims of the best fish and chips in London and so forth. Above the continuous metropolitan chatter Harry struggled to make his voice heard, finally deciding to just whisper the damn thing in Draco’s ear. “Let’s tuck in at a pub, wait for the rush to die’. Draco turned quizzically at Harry, then understood the murmurings and laughed, “And I thought you were going to say something sexy”.

 

The pub of choice was The Throne and Dagger, an unremarkable joint that mirrored its many other Londoner sister restaurants in atmosphere and food. Men gathered around the main bar, exploding in uproarious belly laughs and poor accents reminiscent of their cockney counterparts from decades past. Draco and Harry entered and removed their scarves, jackets, and gloves. They, like the place they were in, looked quite unextraordinary. Draco was a clean shaven man, who albeit being a bit out of place in his fitted silver work suit and white cufflinks, at first glance looked like any other 9-5 Londoner. Harry was sporting jeans, trainers, and a hoodie from none other than Oxford, a reputable (even by wizard standards) muggle school he had decided to adopt as his (cover story) university. The boys didn’t match each other, but fell right into place in the melting pot that is a city pub at the post work day rush.

 

In public, they had to be careful by each other. Despite the looming threat of being recognized by any member of the magical community (incredibly unlikely in this part of London but still), there was the fact that they were two young blokes, and bigots will be bigots. In public, they were simply best mates. Draco worked at a law firm, Harry was studying for his degree. Harry had lived in the flat under Draco but then they moved in together because Harry was short on money and Draco’s flat was just much too big for one person. That was the story they told. That’s what worked. That’s what kept trauma buried deep in the earth and memories on the track to becoming forgotten.

 

“Harry” Draco’s voice interrupted Harry’s thoughts. He didn’t really ask, he never said ‘ _Harry?_ ’ it was always ‘Harry, period” perhaps ‘Harry, exclamation point’. Draco was always sure of himself, confident to the point of it being perceived as arrogance.

“Yes?” Harry asked, meeting the eyes of his serious _friend._ Something was up, he thought, noticing Draco’s fingertips drum lightly on the table slick with sticky residue. He never fidgeted.

“I’ve been thinking” Draco began, “I think we should move”. _Oh this is fine_ were the first words that formulated in Harry’s mind. London didn’t have a special place in Harry’s heart anyways. Ron and Hermione could always visit wherever they were. The Weasleys were just one portkey away **.** Perhaps somewhere like the country would be nice for a while. No more always looking over your shoulder, no more worry. Maybe Draco would become more lenient with the whole practicing magic thing anyway. In the countryside there would be no reminders of Slytherin identity of Malfoy blood, well perhaps the green grass but I mean there always is something---

“To California, Harry”

Harry just about spit out his beer. “Why the fuck would we move to bloody California, Malfoy?”. The ‘Malfoy’ had slipped out accidently and Harry instantly regretted it, seeing the blond grit his teeth frustratedly. Still, it wasn’t completely his fault he kept saying it. Old habits die hard.

“It's sunny” Draco stated matter of factly.

“Well by God it’s sunny Draco we aren’t--” Draco quickly glanced around as Harry’s voice steadily grew louder, and the boy got the message. Quieter, but with the same fervor he began again, “We aren’t moving to California Draco. What the hell has gotten into you?”. Harry leaned back satisfied with clenched teeth after his out of character confrontation. Draco was unphased. “I can’t keep living like this”.

Harry let the words hang in the air for several moments, averting his eyes to watching one man after another swig down pints at the bar. After 3 minutes Draco cleared his throat, and Harry turned back to him. He knew he was being somewhat selfish in his response. He had been there every night the blond had cried himself to sleep or woken with night terrors. He was there when he burned the countless letters his mother had sent them and he was there when he swore off all magic that wasn’t completely necessary. He had seen what the aftermath of the war had done to Draco, what guilt had done to Draco, what the name _Malfoy_ had done to Draco; and still he could not bring himself to say yes. To say “Alright let’s pack our bags and go, I’ll follow you anywhere”. Hell, Harry wasn’t even sure he loved the man. The minutes of silence wore on, until Draco slid out of their table, gave Harry a hard glance, and walked out of the pub alone.

 

 **Santa Cruz** **City Hospital, March 21st 12:08 pm and onwards**

 _Where was he where was he where was he where was he._ Harry walked down hall after hall, peeking into rooms with doors swung open but neglecting the ones that were closed. He was desperate, but not desperate enough to walk in on an elderly woman near death or anything like that. He hadn’t really realized that magnitude of the situation, but as his time was spent ducking by nurses and scouring halls, his thoughts began to run rampant. Draco could die. He could actually proper stop living. He angrily walked faster. This was probably his fault. Draco was unstable, and he knew that. They had broken up when he was at his worst and Harry had never forgiven himself. Perhaps Draco had never forgiven him either. What if he had been drinking? Oh god if he was drinking he could go to jail. Oh fuck. Oh god. Oh bloody fucking hell. What if Draco didn’t want to see him? He could very well walk in and see him all bandaged up and near dead and still have the strength to squeak out “Get out of here, Potter”. Of course he would say Potter. He knew how much he hated it. The whole last name thing had worn them both over the edge.

 

He passed a small waiting area adorned with the sickenly neutral decor American hospitals were characteristic of. He almost didn't stop, but his tired legs and screaming mind got the best of him. His lanky thighs shook in the wooden seat. The room was empty save for an older man across from him. He was the kind of old that’s not quite senile but just about there, almost passing the mark. He gazed at Harry through watery blue eyes, and Harry struggled to avoid eye contact. He reminded him a lot of Dumbledore. It’s the eyes. WIndows to the soul and all that.

“You alright son?” The man asked, a gruff accent emitting from his flappy skin.

Harry was taken by surprise, as he quite often was by the American greetings. All the time and everywhere, you could never escape it really. Smiles from the grocery store clerk, smiles from random people on the street, “how are you”’s and “are you alright”s. It’s like the whole country was constantly checking up on each other.

Harry gave a small cough, “Yes, uhm..my friend, he was uh injured in a road accident”

The man frowned sympathetically.

“Yes and I cant erm.. I can’t find him. They only let in immediate family”. Harry faltered, feeling a lump form in his throat and forcing himself not to cry in front of this man he had just met. He was stronger than this. He had lived through so much and he would get through this too.

“Well”, the old man chuckled, “It must have been a very special friend. I don’t know what you’re sitting down for son. Go find him”.

Harry balled up his fist and knocked it against the wooden chair. He left the waiting room without saying goodbye to the man.

 

Once Harry actually put his mind to it and _focused_ finding Draco really wasn’t that hard. He remembered a mention of the ICU, and took the elevator to the corresponding 6th floor. The ICU was a quiet place, and Harry realized immediately that simply blending in was not a option. The rooms here were all paneled by glass, giving easy access to the ever watching nurses at the central station. A nurse on the floor pulling an iv line almost walked by him, but noticed his unfamiliar face and stopped. Just like Nurse Miller had done before, she authoritatively deadpanned that he could not be here unless he was directly related to a patient, and if he could please make his way downstairs as families are visiting at the moment. Harry was stopped in his tracks. The ICU, while quiet, was full. Nurses, quietly whispering doctors, and families huddled around patients populated the floor. There would be no way to pull out his wand and cast a quick spell now.

“I need to talk to a doctor”, he improvised. “My fri--I need to talk to a doctor about one of the patients. His name is Draco.. Draco Malfoy?”, he finished dubiously, words sagging under the weight of Draco’s last name. The nurse was unimpressed, but obliged and trudged away to find a ‘Draco Malfoy, my fri-- ‘’s doctor.

Harry stood awkwardly by the elevator for  a few moments, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet until the same green scrub doctor from earlier approached him. Her hair was in a tight blond ponytail and she radiated a no nonsense personality (a theme of hospital staff apparently). “Hey there” she smiled warmly, “What can I help you with?”. Harry stammered before tumbling out

“I know you can’t allow anyone with him but family but he hasn’t any family here, his mum and dad are dead (a lie, but not one Draco would mind), we live together , we’re best mates, I just need to see how he’s doing that all and please, please would you let me do that?”.

The doctor looked momentarily unconvinced. The young man in front of her, could be by her standards part of an organ trafficking scheme for all she knew. She had to be especially careful nowadays, anything could happen. She eyed the boy. “What’s your name?”

“It’s Harry, doctor”

The green scrub doctor (Dr. Moon, as Harry now read her tag), had a split second change of heart. The quickest of shifts that even Harry hadn’t the time to analyze. She called out to the nurse’s station while keeping her eyes fixed on Harry, and the thick lock of black hair strategically obscuring a fading forehead scar. “I need someone to take this man to his friend’s room. He’s the car crash victim we got in a couple of hours ago”, she ordered. Before Dr. Moon walked away she whispered to Harry, ‘ _Be careful’_ . It happened so fast that the disheveled boy didn’t have time to wonder if he imagined it, he was whisked away by a nurse and led down a hall to one of the many identical glass paneled rooms.

 

“Visiting hours are from 9am to 5pm, family may stay overnight with prior permission of hospital staff, is that something you would be interested in?” The nurse droned on monotonously. Harry heard her voice but was too engrossed in staring into the dimly lit room. A steady hum of machinery flowed from its thin walls and Harry could see clearly Draco lying immobilized on the bed. Wires ran up his arms and chest and a bandage was secured around his forehead. Realizing the nurse had stopped talking, Harry responded quickly, never taking his eyes off Draco, “Yes, yes I’d be interested”. The nurse nodded, unamused,

“Alright what is your relationship to the patient?”

“Uh, brother. I’m his brother”.

The nurse looked from the pale, so-blonde-it's-almost-white haired boy on on the bed to his olive toned, green eyed, dark curly haired sophomoric counterpart and sighed. “I was adopted” Harry offered. Another lie, but once again it was-probably-for the greater good. The nurse sighed deeper then plodded away, mentioning that she’d bring back some forms to sign.

Harry stood outside the glass alone for a moment. He was truly scared to go in, his muscles felt as though they were in capable of moving. It was sunny outside, the calm after the rainstorm earlier he supposed. It should be night, or it should be raining right now. The weather should oblige just for once and help make this feel real, because it still didn't. Draco couldn't be the pale, black and blue shell of a man lying on the bed on the other side of the glass. There were no get well soon balloons. There were no flowers. There was no family gathered around and no priest blessing him (not that he would have wanted that last one). He was completely alone, and Harry’s heart broke for him. He didn’t care in that moment if Draco didn’t want him there. He didn't care about anything but the fact that the man he loved was alone. He pushed through the door of the room.


End file.
